


Free from any cage

by raiyana



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Éowyn fears the cage... but what of the cages we make for ourselves?A day of leisure and swimming reveals fears she never admitted to having when it came to her new life in Ithilien.Written for the Tolkien Secret Santa 2018





	Free from any cage

**Author's Note:**

> written for @kudos-praze on tumblr.

“There is a deep pool within the forest, my Lady,” Faramir offered quietly, distracting Éowyn from her melancholy retelling of early spring swims in the rivers of Rohan and the vigorous joy of playing with friends in the water. “While it is not a river, it is deeper than any lake of my kenning, and carries a chill that even the warmest of summers may not dissipate.” He smiled at her, that smile she had first loved on his face, and Éowyn found herself nodding at the suggestion of a trip before she could think twice.

 

Riding beneath the dappling shadows of sunlight on green leaves would never lose its magic, she hoped, her legs easily controlling the roan mare she had trained from a foal. The delight of an afternoon free of courtiers – even in Ithilien they seemed to be everywhere, though she knew there were far more of the pests in Minas Tirith – was marred slightly by her own dark thoughts, and even the bright thrills of small birds among the branches did not lift her spirit.

Éowyn squared her shoulder, nudging her horse to move up beside Faramir’s. She had made a promise to her husband and she would not falter.

 

* * *

 

Her courage lasted until they reached the still pool, deep and looking as invitingly cool in the hot day as she had been promised. Busying herself with hobbling Windfóla and undoing the parcels of supplies Matron Eilis had pressed on them, more than enough to stave off the starvation of a small party of Rangers, Éowyn was sure, and far more than the two of them might reasonably consume during a leisurely afternoon.

Behind her, Faramir sighed longingly, the sound of buckles being undone following swiftly.

Éowyn turned around, in time to see his naked form wading into the pool, disappearing from sight after two steps only to reappear with a shout of equal parts delight and cold, skin glistening in the sunlight, old scars and new ones showing up in different hues and lines across his body.

She shivered, biting her lip.

“Come in, Éowyn!” he called, turning around, threading water, and beckoning her to join him.

Éowyn pulled off her riding boots, slowly undoing the laces at the throat of her tunic. Pulling her shift free of her trousers took little work, and shimmying out of the soft leggings mere moments.

And then she stalled, one hand clutching the ribbon that held the shift together over her breasts, her thumb absently tracing one of the scars that ran along her collarbone.

“Éowyn?” Faramir called to her once more, questioning now, and Éowyn wished she could make him understand.

“Turn around.” She ordered, trying to keep her voice steady but fearing she had failed entirely when he frowned instead, moving closer to the edge of the pool.

“Shy?” he asked softly, smiling at her. Tilting his head, he moved closer still, leaving the water entirely and holding out his hand for her.

Éowyn wanted to take it, and still she remained frozen, her bare toes burrowing into the mossy forest floor. Her eyes were the only part of her that moved, roaming over his body; she only ever saw it in the half-darkness of the banked fire in their bedroom, all candles blown out for the night at her own insistence, and the sunlight made her curse herself a fool for missing out.

“My love?” Faramir wondered, coming to a halt some feet away, one hand running through his dark hair, slicking the waves back with the water clinging to the strands. “What troubles you?”

He was worried now, she could hear it, and wished she could find the words. Instead, her feet moved of their own volition, until she was close enough to lean her forehead against his shoulder, feel the warmth of his arms wrapping around her back.

“Scars…” she muttered, tracing a small one across his upper arm. On _him_ they were marks of valour; remnants of the life he had lived in Ithilien before the War and his courage against the forces of Sauron. On _her_ , however… _unsightly_ , that’s what the Gondorian noblewomen called the few her gowns would not hide, astute enough to keep such remarks where they thought she could not hear. Unsightly, no matter that they praised her victory to her face, _unsightly_ that’s what she was, the barbarian shieldmaiden from the North.

Faramir did not speak, though she felt his lips against her skin, rows of tiny kisses running in lines over her shoulders.

It took Éowyn a long moment to connect the movements, stiffening in shock, even as she warmed in desire, feeling his fingers run lightly up her spine.

“Will you look at me, Éowyn?” he asked, breathing the question into goose bumps across her skin. She nodded, wondering when her hands had come to rest on his waist, and turned her head enough to catch those grey eyes with her own, the steel soft as starlight. “My beautiful White Lady of the North…” Smiling, he kissed her forehead, kissed her tears away, kissed her lips with ardour undimmed by the light of day. “Remember what I told you in the Gardens? ' _You are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten_ ’. It is written in every scar upon your skin, and I would have you see them with the same pride I do, see them with gratitude; without them, you would not now be my Lady, my Éowyn…”

She kissed him, pulling the ribbon free as she stepped onto her toes, tugging him down by the hair and teased his lips the best she knew how. Faramir groaned against her mouth, making Éowyn smile.

When his lips returned to her collarbones, his fingers dancing over her back light enough to tease but firmly enough it did not tickle, she tilted her head back with a gasp as his gentle tongue moved along lines she knew better than anyone, trailing fire along each scar and pooling it in her belly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, flicking a nipple in passing, but continuing to trace the lines her hardest battle yet had left upon her chest, strong fingers keeping her still before him as he knelt. “My Éowyn.”

“Faramir…” she breathed, her hands scrabbling across his shoulders looking for purchase, “ _Faramir…_ ” She moaned lightly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she tried to make sense of her head; overwhelmed by the way he sought out each of her scars, his lips warm enough to set her on fire, she leaned her weight on him.

Faramir made a pleased hum, mouthing along her hip bone. Éowyn surprised herself with a soft gasp, torn between leaning into the touch of his mouth and the warmth of his palms cupping her buttocks.

She had felt this, but only the privacy of their darkened bedroom, covered by the blankets of their bed, and to feel it now, _here_ , where anyone might see them made her shiver with equal fear and delight.

Tangling the fingers of one hand in the dark wet strands of his hair, Éowyn pressed Faramir’s head a little lower, widening her stance.

“ _Husband_ ,” she moaned, “ _please._ ”

The look in his eyes when he pulled back, smirking at her, made her want to bite back the plea for more, such wicked delight feeling cruel if not for the eager way he returned to his task, nibbling gently up her thighs, that tongue making a light pass over her apex before he turned his attention to her other thigh, making her strain at the effort to remain standing.

Faramir moved, hoisting her leg over one of his strong shoulders and Éowyn squealed when she finally – _finally_ – felt that tongue where she’d wanted it to go; warm and slick as he licked into her most secret place.

Moving slowly, she felt him grin against her hot core when she ran out of patience, holding his head still where she liked it, obeying the unspoken command with alacrity. Tracing nonsense patterns over his shoulders, Éowyn gave in to the pleasure filling her soul.

 

* * *

 

“I love you,” she whispered much later, pressing the confession into his skin with a kiss, “my poet-warrior.”


End file.
